


A Good Day

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Iron Bull Feels, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Trespasser, Recovery, Slice of Life, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: "Today was a really good day.""Yeah, we've been having a lot of those lately."-On the long road to Dorian's recovery after his captivity at the hands of the Venatori, the Iron Bull no longer takes good days for granted.





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned that there is a referenced suicide, implied suicidal thoughts, and referenced self-harm, though not graphically so.

_The water was foamy and pink in the aftermath of the battle, lapping lazily along the white sand beach while the stench of blood and fire mixed in with the tang of salt. Bodies littered the ground, mostly vints, who were taken by surprise, but there were several Qunari laying in the sand as well. The vints fought back hard. There was a lingering haze to the air from bursting gaatlok and fire slung by the vints, smarting Hissrad’s eyes as he slung his bloodied greatsword over his back._

_Despite the smoke and the sting, Hissrad quickly spotted the last living vint on the beach._

_A sense of satisfaction rose in Hissrad, hoping to question the man who was kneeling in the sand with his arm hanging in an odd angle and handsome bronze face splattered with drying blood. Hissrad approached slowly, his men taking notice and kept their distance, letting him deal with the survivor. The vint saw him right away though and sharp, clear green eyes lifted up to meet Hissrad’s gaze in an unwavering, but tired, stare._

_Hissrad tried to ignore how young the man looked, the youthful roundness of his face, and the exhausted lines creased around his bright eyes._

_“I’m so fucking tired of the fighting,” the man rasped in Common as Hissrad approached, voice raw from the smoke and his accent lacking any of the aristocratic flare that the Magisters and officers carried._

_That was good, Hissrad thought, a low ranking soldier who was weary of fighting was better than a Magister set in his ideas and pride for the Imperium. Maybe Hissrad wouldn’t have to kill the man after questioning him, the young man could be a candidate for conversion and a valuable resource in the fight for Seheron._

_But before Hissrad could utter a word, the man murmured a spell and a red, hot fire glyph appeared under the vint. The man was instantly engulfed in a burst of searing flames, turning to ash right before Hissrad’s eyes._

-

The Iron Bull’s single eye snapped open and his mouth automatically drew in a sharp, gasping breath as he suddenly awoke. Sweat prickled his skin as droplets slid down and were absorbed into the sheets below. The blankets were bunched down and tangled around his feet, and his racing heart slowly calmed as Bull steadied his breathing. The last bits of the memory clung to Bull’s mind as he stared up at the ornate ceiling of his bedroom, trying to concentrate on the frivolousness of Orlesian architecture instead of the lingering memory of the stink of burning flesh and the crackle and pop of fire.

Once he grounded himself, the first thing Bull noticed was the emptiness on the other side of the bed, the coldness of the sheets next to him, and the sullen darkness through the window, indicating hours before daybreak. Jerking up into a sitting position, Bull’s eye searched the room and he whipped his head towards a single candle light in the corner of the bedroom, illuminating Dorian in a soft, yellow glow. 

The mage was sitting in plush chair with a candle flickering next to him on a side table and wrapped comfortably in a silk dressing gown, his legs curled under him with the bottoms of his bare feet visible. An open book was in his hands, the new leather and colorful lettering suggested it was one of Varric’s new novels, but silver eyes were fixed on Bull instead of the pages.

_Unless you need to piss, don’t leave the damn bed,_ Bull thought instantly at the sight of Dorian sitting in the chair. Taking a deep and calming breath, Bull instead asked, “Couldn’t sleep, kadan?”

Even from the bed, Bull could see Dorian’s throat bob as he swallowed, but Dorian merely shrugged his shoulders in response as he put down his book. 

“Did you want your sleeping draughts?” Bull pressed.

Dorian scrunched up his face and shook his head. 

“Are you sure? I’ll mix them into some herbal tea and honey for you.”

A small sigh pushed through Dorian’s lips. “I’m fine, I just wanted to read.”

“You can read in bed, I don’t mind.”

Dorian’s hands curled into fists in his lap and he turned his head away from Bull, looking out a nearby window framed with heavy, velvet drapes. His profile was as pretty as ever, even with dark circles under his eyes emphasized by the yellow glow of the candle and the lines of frustration on his face that were shadowed along his skin. 

“I stayed in the bedroom,” Dorian replied shortly, his jaw clenched.

Closing his eye for a second, Bull could see bloodied footsteps in the moonlight, pressed unevenly into the dew covered undergrowth and winding through the woods behind the villa, his throat raw as he shouted Dorian’s name. And Dorian, shivering in the cold with hardly anything on, eyes wild, skin pale and lips blue as he tried to explain, _“I didn’t dream tonight and I … I needed to prove to myself that I’m no longer--that I’m not … I had to do something irrational to prove that I’m not that way again. I had to, amatus, I had to or …”_

Forcing his eye open and to take another deep breath, Bull managed a smile and acknowledged, “I know and I appreciate it, kadan.”

“Did you have a bad dream, amatus?” Dorian asked, his tone softer as his hands loosened and his features relaxed.

“No,” Bull shook his head, “it was just a memory.”

Dorian turned his head back towards Bull. “What was it about?”

The reflex to tell a white lie and not to burden Dorian with what was bothering him kicked in and the lie nearly tumbled out past his lips. Just barely stopping himself, Bull told the truth. 

“It was about a vint in Seheron after a battle, the only survivor in his group.” Bull paused to lick at his dry lips and swallowing down the lump in his throat before continuing, “He said he was tired of fighting and then set himself on fire in front of me.”

The color drained from Dorian’s face. Blowing out the candle, Dorian quickly crossed the room back towards Bull, discarding his dressing gown in a pool silk on the floor before sliding into bed. Bull laid back down and pulled the jumble of blankets up as Dorian snuggled up to his side with his head resting on Bull’s chest and his hair tickling Bull’s chin. Strong fingers clutched onto Bull, nails biting into a tough skin as dampness gathered around Dorian’s eyes, evaporating on Bull’s chest.

“Amatus,” he rasped in the darkness, “I … I would never … I wouldn’t do that to you,” Dorian’s words were choked off by heavy and struggled breaths.

“I know, kadan,” Bull reassured him quickly, petting soft, dark hair. “Go back to sleep, big guy, we have a long day ahead of us.”

The shallowest of nods acknowledged Bull’s urging and after several long minutes Dorian’s breathing finally evened out before tapering into light snores that filled the void in the room. Despite telling Dorian to go back to sleep, Bull knew that he wouldn’t fall back asleep himself. He didn’t mind though, the few hours of solid sleep he got earlier would keep him going for the rest of the day.

Instead, Bull enjoyed the quiet during the small hours of the morning before the start of the day. This was his time, moments all to himself to spend as he wished. There were always a hundred things to do during the day, almost too many things for Bull to keep track of and to deal with, but in the hours before sunrise, no one demanded anything from the Iron Bull. His mind was clear and free from distraction, almost like meditation, and he felt at peace.

He listened to the quiet draw of Dorian’s breath, feeling the rise and fall of his lungs against him, and Bull let his fingers wander across the expanse of Dorian’s body. He stroked thick, dark hair, rubbed soothing circles along his temple, and traced the slight protrusion of Dorian’s ribs and the too sharp angles of his hips. Very carefully, Bull pinched at the little hint of fat beginning to accumulate around Dorian’s stomach, reassuring himself that it wasn’t lessening.

His fingertips ran over Dorian’s scars. The good ones were a collection from the battles they fought together during the days of the Inquisition, against dragons, Red Templars, demons, Freemen, and Venatori. Those were Bull’s favorite. Though there was a small one on Dorian’s elbow that he was rather fond of, which came from falling out of his own bed in Skyhold when he and Bull were fooling around. 

There were other more recent scars, long thin ones that ran up and down the length of Dorian’s arms that Bull saved for last. Harsh reminders of when he failed his kadan and marks of Dorian's sheer will to survive.

Eventually night gave way as the sun peeked out from over the eastern horizon and began to flood the room in its grey morning light. With the start of the day before him, it left the Iron Bull wondering how it would go, afraid that Dorian’s midnight reading and clenched jaw was a sign for the day to come. But there was sweet smile on Dorian’s face when he stirred awake an hour later, a warm and sleepy expression that didn’t speak of the flash of frustration and defensiveness that flared up hours before.

The warmth and sweetness of Dorian’s expression turned to something sharper and mischievous. His intentions became clear as Dorian climbed on top of Bull and his hand wrapped around Bull’s stirring cock and his thumb rolling over the head. Tipping his head back into the pillow, Bull let out a little chuckle as his heart lightened. It was that kind of morning.

His large hands wandered over Dorian’s body, stroking and teasing sensitive spots. Each gentle brush wrung out small noises of pleasure from Dorian, which were then swallowed up by slow kisses. Soon, Dorian’s hard cock was rubbing against the crease of Bull’s thigh, smearing precum upon his skin.

Drawing back, Dorian looked up at Bull, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips. “Amatus?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do all the work,” Bull teased as he shifted Dorian down onto the mattress and reached for the vial of oil on the nightstand.

They started reconnecting sexually just within the last month or so, the intensity of Dorian's trauma faded enough to allow for that kind of intimacy again. Sex felt new in a way that it never had before, even when they first started sleeping together years ago, as now Dorian's touches more hesitant and lacking in his usual confidence. But the contact was good, physically and emotionally, and it reaffirmed something primal and needy within Bull to give Dorian pleasure.

He held Dorian, kept his embrace secure, but not too tight, and murmured words of praise and encouragement as he slid into Dorian and started a slow and steady pace with his hips. There were no heated kisses, claims of conquest, or nails raking down lengths of backs, this was some soft, gentle, and hard earned. Their love making was slow and lazy, just a whisper of the rough and intense tumbles that they used to engage in.

_“I don't want you to get bored.”_

_“All I want is to give you what you need, kadan, and what you need is for me to be sweet to you.”_

The results were about the same, Bull took control and gave Dorian a safe space to let go and precious time to be worshipped. He watched the pretty expressions Dorian made with his teeth catching his bottom lip, loud gasps at the change of an angle, and the long, drawn out vowels of his name in Dorian's raspy voice. By the end of it, Dorian was a boneless heap under Bull with a small and sated smile.

Sliding off of the bed, Bull patted Dorian’s hip playfully, “Come on, we can’t stay in bed all day, kadan. Let’s go take a bath.”

The mage groaned into his pillow, but rolled out of bed without another complaint and followed Bull into the private bath chamber attached to the bedroom. Like the rest of the villa, it was overly done up with a blue marble floor and flourishes of Orlesian gilding on the pristine white walls. The bathtub was more of pool, inlaid into the marble floor with a polished brass pump that filled it with water in lieu of servants. The extravagance left Bull missing the relative simplicity of their Nevarran villa along the Tevinter border.

Working the pump for several minutes, Bull filled the bath and Dorian dipped his hand into the water, heating it to a comfortable temperature. Bull slipped into the water and leaned back against the edge, spreading his legs so Dorian could settle in between them.

Taking the bar of soap and a soft washcloth, Bull lathered them up and started scrubbing Dorian’s long back. It was a ritual that Bull enjoyed, the calm that came from hot water and the simple and repetitive movements of running the washcloth over Dorian’s skin and working shampoo into his hair. And it was even better when Dorian took over, his long, clever fingers working out the knots in Bull’s muscles, an unnatural and comforting heat radiating from his palms, and taking a moment to gently rub balm into Bull’s horns and carefully scratching the itchy spot right at the base.

There were no quick words fueled by anger and fear, no moments of uncertainty and hesitation that sometimes plagued them during difficult moments. Instead, they took the opportunity every morning to enjoy their bath, no matter what occurred the day before or what lay ahead of them that day. 

It was like they both left every worry, frustration, and bit of pain at the door.

Normally Bull would stay longer, let his fingertips prune and maybe even doze off for a couple minutes, but there were too many things left undone that needed to completed that morning and afternoon. The water sloshed as Bull stood and stepped out, leaving a slick trail on the floor as he grabbed a flannel towel to dry off.

“You’re getting out already, amatus?” Dorian asked quickly, the water rippling around him as his whole body went rigid.

Bull bent down and kissed the top of Dorian’s head. “I’m going to make breakfast and then I have to answer my letters and finish up the chores before Sera and Dagna’s visit. You go ahead and soak, kadan.”

He didn’t wait for Dorian’s response and headed back into the bedroom to put on a pair of pants and shrugged on a leather harness before going off to the kitchen, knowing that he was taking a small risk by leaving the room like that. But that’s what Cassandra kept urging Bull to do, to make small steps outside of Dorian’s tight comfort zone and forcing Dorian to adjust in controlled and careful ways.

The villa's kitchen was overly large and consistently smelled of warmed bread. The room was outfitted with a walk-in pantry, two wood burning ovens, and an oversized cast iron stove with enough space and counters to accommodate an army of servants preparing for a holiday feast. But now it was only Bull who really occupied the space, preparing meals for just Dorian and himself. Life on the road had taught Bull how to cook and provided him with a wide variety in his repertoire, but he kept the meals he made for Dorian simple. Scones and fresh fruit were on his menu that morning, along with thick slices of bacon, which was mostly for himself.

Pitchers of fresh milk and cream sat waiting for Bull on the counter, along with newly churned butter, brought in by one of the nearly invisible servants Bull hired to help run the villa. Gone was the once trusted staff Dorian brought with him from Tevinter that did almost everything. They were replaced long months ago by a small group of discrete and thoroughly vetted servants that once worked for the Inquisition. They knew to stay out of the way, to quickly and quietly do their chores, bring in groceries and baked goods, and to go back to town. Bull made sure they were paid very well for their troubles.

Bull had hardly started making the dough for the scones, cutting butter into flour, when Dorian swiftly walked in, his hair still wet from their bath, his shirt buttons were done up unevenly, his stockings were mismatched, and his trousers were missing their usual belts. There was no makeup on Dorian’s face and parts of his shirt sticking to his skin where he didn’t thoroughly dry off. It gave Bull pause, the sickly churn of anxiety filled his stomach like acid as he questioned whether he put Dorian in an off mood by cutting short his bath and leaving the room.

Dorian moved into Bull’s space, stretching up to kiss his cheek. “What are you making, amatus?”

There was a small tremor to Dorian’s voice, but no other signs of agitation. Bull let out a silent sigh of relief. “Scones, fruit, and bacon.”

“Can’t have a meal without some sort of fried meat,” Dorian observed, the tremor smoothing out as he took a step back to straighten out his clothes before sitting down on a nearby stool and watched Bull make their meal.

Breakfast was the first battle of the day, Bull thought warily as he fixed a plate for Dorian once he was done cooking. He put only one scone on the plate, but slathered a generous helping of butter and honey onto it, and gave him a hefty serving of fruit. Dorian said nothing though and just took his plate and a pot of tea out to the small, informal breakfast nook off of the kitchen. 

The nook afforded a fine view of the gardens behind the house, which were gorgeous with the bloom of autumn colors, and of the Hunterhorn Mountains looming in the distance. Sometimes Bull liked to think that he could see the Seekers Fortress in the steep climb of the mountain and through the thicket of trees. That somewhere amongst the wilderness and stone walls, Cassandra was glaring down at him.

“When will Sera and Dagna arrive?” Dorian asked as he used his fork to cut his scone into smaller and smaller pieces.

Bull watched the soft golden scone crumble under Dorian’s abuse, mixing it into the butter and sticky honey. The growing apprehension in him uncoiled though as Dorian’s fork actually scooped up the food and the remains of the scone made it into his mouth.

“Late this afternoon,” Bull answered, pouring a cup of black tea for Dorian and adding a healthy amount of frothy milk and sugar to the cup. “I suspect that they’ll want to stop at the inn in town before heading over.”

“Whatever for?” Dorian’s voice went up sharply, though Bull wasn’t sure if it was his reaction to his overly sweetened tea or to what Bull told him. A frown creased on Dorian’s lips, but he continued to drink his tea.

Keeping his tone steady and gentle, Bull said, “That’s where they’re staying, kadan, and they’ll probably want to drop off their stuff before coming over.”

Dorian put his teacup down with an undignified clatter upon the saucer. “They should just stay here.”

Bull stilled. “We talked about this before,” he ventured carefully, “you didn’t want them to stay over.”

“Well, that was then,” Dorian snapped. He paused and drew in a long breath, and in calmer tone, added, “We planned this, what? Two months ago? Things are different now and I want them to stay here.”

The urge to question and prod welled up in Bull, but he quickly stamped it down. While this meant that Bull needed to freshen up the guestroom, this was a vast improvement and he was happy to do the extra work.

“I’ll send someone to try to intercept them in town to tell them come straight over.”

Dorian nodded, seemingly satisfied. His gaze dropped down to his half picked over plate. “I haven’t seen them since before …” he trailed off.

Since before Cassandra broke his Tranquility, was what he meant to say.

“Sera came right after, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You weren’t yourself.”

“I certainly was not at my most charming,” Dorian retorted blithely. 

That was an understatement and Bull tried to put it out of mind, but the memories were forceful and intrusive. 

He remember the long howls of anger and despair that echoed down the long stone halls of the Seekers Fortress and the quiet, pitiful sobs that Bull could hear when he stood at the closed door. Cassandra and her stern face telling Bull, _“No, not now. He can’t bear to see you now. We have him, we’re making sure he isn’t hurting himself.”_ And Dorian’s wrath when he finally did see Bull, _“Where the fuck were you? You let them do this to me! You let the Venatori have me! You and fucking Cadash!”_ Then the anger fell away to utter and crushing devastation, _“Andraste help me, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave. I don’t think I can do this, amatus, I don’t think I can do this …”_

“No one was expecting you to sit for tea,” Bull said lightly.

A small smile twisted on Dorian’s lips and quiet overcame them with only the scrape of utensils on the plates and the clink of teacups to occupy the silence. But Bull didn’t feel too worried as Dorian slowly, but steadily, finished his food. Then, faster than Bull could anticipate, Dorian’s hand darted out towards Bull’s plate and snatched a piece of bacon from him, biting off a large piece of it before Bull could say anything.

A grin broke out across Bull’s face and he could have laughed with sheer joy when Dorian took a second strip of bacon from him. It was the first time that Dorian willingly made a move to eat more than what was served to him. Despite his excitement, Bull remained silent about the step forward and allowed Dorian to eat in peace.

They gathered up the dishes and brought them back to the kitchen. A small and scarce servant staff meant that many chores fell to the two of them, not that Bull minded in slightest, but Dorian still struggled with simple tasks. He’d seen Dorian setup a camp with competence, prep a rabbit carcass for roasting with only minimal complaining, and take apart and clean his staff and armor with ease, but asking Dorian to dry dishes seemed beyond him.

“That's not exactly dry, kadan,” Bull clicked his tongue, elbow deep in soapy water in a wash bin. “The underside of the plate needs to be wiped too,” reminding Dorian for might have been the hundredth time.

Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed, but he took more care with the current dish in his hand.

“You'll need to redo the other ones,” Bull commented lightly.

There was tightness in Dorian's face, his teeth grinding behind perfect lips, and Bull immediately tensed and steeled himself for what was to come.

But then Dorian retorted, “I'll come up with a spell to rid me of this task, you wait and see. I did help to develop time magic after all.”

Bull's shoulders relaxed. “Keep working on it, big guy, but until then, you need to redo that stack.”

Dorian merely rolled his eyes again and did as he was told.

Once the dishes were cleaned and put away, Bull withdrew to the study and Dorian followed closely behind. Bull sat behind the large oak desk, the centerpiece of the room, which was buried under a pile of letters and his accounting books, all waiting for his attention. Dorian grabbed a pillow from one of the chairs, laying it on the floor near the desk, and sat down on the cushion with his legs crossed. He sat up with tall and elegant posture, not a curve in his spine and his shoulders thrown back as he closed his eyes, palms resting upwards in his lap.

Meditation was supposed to help Dorian listen to and control his emotions, or at least that’s what Cassandra said when she appointed it as part of his routine. Bull was just glad that lately Dorian didn’t fuss about it and settled into the practice with ease, though he did keep watch whenever Dorian summoned a little ball of fire or an arch of lightning between his fingers as he meditated. It was important for Dorian to reconnect with and control his magic, Bull understood that, but small and mostly faded burns on Dorian’s long and slender fingers reminded Bull of rougher times.

His jaw clenched as Bull still struggled with the shame of his hasty words propelled by a burst of anger, concern, and a deep well of fear.

_“For fuck’s sake, Dorian, if you don’t stop intentionally burning yourself, I’ll collar you myself!”_

“Amatus,” Dorian said chidingly, eyes still closed as he maintained a small flame hovering safely above his palms, “stop frowning, you’re ruining my meditation time.”

Bull snorted, his frown fading as he answered, “Sorry, kadan.”

Focusing back on his work, Bull penned a quick note for Sera, instructing her to come straight to the villa and that Dorian was requesting that she and Dagna stay with them. In an afterthought, he also requested that she ditch any alcohol they were carrying in their luggage before coming over, with the promise to pay them back for any losses.

Then Bull turned his attention back to the letters on his desk, most were inquiries from friends wanting an update on Dorian’s condition and expenses that needed to be tended to. Cullen wrote to ask permission to visit soon. Josephine had good news concerning Bull’s investments in her family’s business in trade, indicating that he and Dorian be receiving a healthy return soon. And there was a note reminding Bull that he needed to pay the feed merchant for hay for the horses. 

There was even a letter from Alexius, who was held under the supervision of the Divine's spymaster since the Inquisition's disbandment. Bull's thumb ran over the thin edge of the envelope and while he was sure that Leliana's people read the letter before sending it, Bull decided to put it to the side until he had time to carefully read over it himself before giving it to Dorian. 

_“He was a member of the Venatori. I wonder, would he have let them do this to me? Would he have helped them torture me?”_

Whatever Alexius had to say could wait until after Sera and Dagna's visit.

There was one bright spot in the pile, a thick envelope from Krem. Bull's second sent him several pages reporting back what the Chargers were up to, well wishes from the guys, and a good two pages of Krem just bitching about one thing or another. It left Bull with a smile even as he felt the absence of Krem and his men keenly.

Depending on how Sera and Dagna’s visit went, Bull hoped he could ask Krem and the Chargers to winter in the town a few miles from the villa. It was a long shot to get Dorian to agree to such a proposal, to have so many people close by and coming in and out of the villa, but Dorian’s insistence that Sera and Dagna stay with them and his easy nature that morning put Bull in a rare and hopeful mood. Leaning back in the plush chair, Bull listened to the quiet of the house, and thought about the pleasure of seeing Krem and his men again and maybe even being able to run a quick job with them.

It likely wouldn't happen, but Bull allowed himself the selfishness of hope.

There was a letter from Cadash waiting for Bull and he knew to open it right away. It was just a few sentences written in her usual curt style. 

_Bull,_

_The lead from Leliana’s spymaster was good, I’ve got a trunk full of Venatori heads for you. Most are the ones we were looking for, others not, but don’t care at this point. Thom’s got business near Val Royeaux, then we’re coming. Tell Dorian not to set Thom’s beard on fire this time._

_Cadash_

He folded the letter back up and silently sighed. At this point, Bull could only wonder at how many little sects of Venatori could still be lurking about that hadn’t met the end of Cadash’s maul. Watching Dorian meditate, Bull knew that the answer was too many.

_“They bled me, amatus. They bled me and I didn’t do a damn thing because I knew I couldn’t get away, that they would kill me if I tried, so I fucking sat there because it was the rational thing to do. It was rational to sit there and let them take my blood for their rituals. I fucking sat there as they sliced open my arms and … and ... Oh Maker, amatus, I can’t ...”_

The chair scraped against the hardwood for the floor as Bull rose, suddenly needing to stretch his legs and get some fresh air after too much time reading letters and balancing number. Dorian’s eyes snapped open at Bull’s movement and the little flame he was maintaining was snuffed out as he scrambled to his feet and followed Bull out of the room, snatching a cloak for himself on their way out of the house.

The autumn morning was crisp with a light dusting of frost clinging to the blades of grass. It wouldn’t last as the day was on the edge of warming with the climbing sun that was lighting up the foliage of the gardens. While Bull wasn’t thrilled with the decadence of the house, he did love the grounds. Well maintained walkways made for easy walks around pretty gardens lush with flowering trees, bright and prickly roses, pale Crystal Grace, and green shrubbery in the summer. The paths were good exercise for Dorian when he was up to it and were easy on Bull’s knee as the weather turned cold.

Just a short jaunt through the gardens was the stables and Bull immediately spotted the young elven girl he hired to keep an eye on the horses for them. The girl, fifteen years old or so, was busy brushing down Bull’s large Fereldan mare as she happily hummed under her breath.

“Good morning, Ser Iron Bull, Lord Dorian!” The girl greeted, pausing in her work to curtesy.

“Morning, Senna,” Bull bowed to her, which always made her snort with a high pitched laughter. “Can I ask for a favor?”

“Of course, ser!”

“Once you’re done, could you run into town for me and wait for Sera and Dagna by the inn and give them a message for me?”

“Certainly. Did you need anything in town while I’m there, ser?”

“Thanks, Senna.” He pressed the note for Sera and few extra silver coins into her thin palm. “I don’t need anything, what about you, kadan?”

The moment they entered the stables, Dorian had drifted towards his trusted mount, the bog unicorn he affectionately called Princess, and nuzzled the creepy beast as if it were a kitten instead of some undead abomination with a sword through its heard. He didn’t say anything to Senna, but she and the other servants were used to Dorian’s manners at this point.

“I don’t need anything,” Dorian confirmed quietly, his fingers tangled in the mangy red mane of the bog unicorn. Then he added in a stronger voice, “Thank you, Senna.”

The girl’s eyes went round at Dorian’s first words to her and she curtsied again. “You’re welcome, Lord Dorian. I’ll head straight into town once I’m done here.”

Bull headed out of the stables and Dorian immediately abandoned Princess, following Bull closely.

“You’re friendly today,” Bull observed casually as he started walking down one of the garden paths.

“Yes, well, I know it wouldn’t kill me to be polite now and then,” Dorian bit out, shrugging his shoulders stiffly as he averted his gaze from Bull.

“Hey, I’m not trying to chastise you or anything,” Bull was swift to correct. “I’m just saying that I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to Senna, that’s all.”

There was sullen silence from Dorian that left Bull uneasy, but he was relieved as Dorian paused in their walk and quietly admitted, “I know that being polite, being rational, isn’t the end of me. It doesn’t make me … you know, like how I was. I’m just ... I’m trying.”

Bull’s hand reached over the space between them, his fingers grasping Dorian’s chin to tilt his face up and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. The kiss lingered, Dorian’s hands pressed against the bare skin of Bull’s chest, his fingertips curling in just a bit as Bull’s hands enclosed around his waist.

“What was that for?” Dorian asked as their lips parted and a light flush burned his cheeks.

“No reason, just wanted to.” Bull squeezed Dorian’s waist, still too narrow for Bull’s liking, but he could feel the difference, the improvement, from before. “Did you want to spar?”

There was a nice, large clearing between the gardens and the woods that lined the end of their property. Scorch marks and small craters were scattered along the stretch of grass, evidence of Dorian’s enthusiasm for practicing with his magic. Time spent in even his relatively short period of Tranquility left Dorian with less than perfect control of his magic and while for months he fought Bull at almost every turn of his recovery, refining his abilities was something Dorian threw himself into with a passion. Even at the most frustrating bits of practice, failed spells, uncontrolled bursts of power, tapping out of his mana far too early, Dorian faced it head on with stubborn determination.

Dorian bit his lip, eyes darting longingly to the clearing, though he said, “I would rather not have to take another bath before Sera and Dagna arrive.”

“How about some target practice then? You know you want to get that fire going, big guy, and plus you’ll get to watch me flex my muscles,” Bull flexed his arm encouragingly, not wanting Dorian to miss out on what was often the highlight of his day.

“You certainly make a convincing argument,” Dorian huffed with a small laugh.

There were already a few piles of clay discs laying in the grass, along with a couple battered practice shields that Bull used when they would spar. Picking up a disc, Bull waited until Dorian threw off his cloak and stretched out his limbs. Once Dorian was ready, Bull hurled the disc, his arm straining with the effort and a hard grunt punched from his chest as the disc took air and arched up into the sky. It didn’t remain there long as it suddenly burst into pieces with a satisfying crack of lightning. 

A beautiful and satisfied grin appeared on Dorian’s lips.

For each disc, Dorian alternated his elements with graceful ease. Many were incinerated, others were struck by a flash of lightning, and some shattered into pieces from a spike of ice. By the time Bull was done with one pile, Dorian was absolutely glowing from a sheen of sweat, a ruddiness to his cheeks from the exercise, and a healthy dose of well-earned pride. He’d hit every single disc.

“Fucking awesome!” Bull boomed out with a laugh as the last disc turned to ash.

“That was a productive session,” Dorian preened, an echo of his old confidence shining through. “Though I will definitely need to wash before lunch.”

“Me too,” Bull hummed in agreement before pressing a kiss on Dorian’s forehead, tasting the salt of sweat clinging to his skin.

They retreated back to the villa and to their private bath chamber, though this time they didn’t indulge in a full bath as they had in the morning. Instead, they quickly washed down with floral soap and warm water from a basin, washing away the sweat from their workout. Afterwards, Bull took pity on Dorian and lingered in the bedroom, allowing Dorian the leisure time to dress and primp himself that he was denied earlier.

A sardonic and weak smile twisted on Bull’s lips as he reclined on the bed. While he still worried about Dorian wandering out of the villa in the middle of the night, Bull sometimes wished he could have a few moments alone during their waking hours. During the day, Bull could hardly step out of a room without Dorian shadowing him or even use the privy without Dorian fretting that he was sneaking away. But Bull quickly dashed those unkind thoughts, knowing the deep fear and insecurities that lingered within Dorian.

_“Whenever you’d leave my room at the Seekers Fortress, I always feared you were gone for good. And why wouldn’t you leave? Why would you want to deal with all of this? Especially after how I’ve treated you, amatus. But then you’d come back. I guess I still hold onto that fear and every time you walk out of the room I feel like you’re leaving me forever.”_

_“I’m never leaving forever, kadan, I’ll always come back for you.”_

So Bull remained on the bed and watched as Dorian sat at his vanity, drawing a line of kohl around his eyes, using the large gold leaf framed mirror to guide his hand. It was always comforting to watch as Dorian fell back into old rituals, a hundred little things that Bull didn’t notice or took for granted. Now just seeing Dorian apply his makeup was something Bull treasured, a step towards normality, moving towards the peace they had before their lives were abruptly upended.

Gone was the hurried man from the morning, haphazardly dressed, hair in wet curls, looking anxious, and in his place was someone more akin to what Bull was used to. Subtle cosmetics highlighted the best features of Dorian’s face, every strand of black hair was tamed in place, and his silk robes were beautifully draped around his body. Scented oil was daintily dabbed along the graceful curve of Dorian’s neck and the familiar smell of sandalwood filled Bull’s nostrils.

Dorian looked every bit as cool and confident as he ever did. Bull knew how fragile the facade was, but he couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled within him at the sight of his kadan.

Dorian’s silver eyes fluttered up from his vanity and focused on Bull’s reflection in the mirror. “Ready for lunch, amatus?”

A jolt of surprise nearly overtook Bull. The fact that Dorian asking about their next meal was always a good sign, it was rare for Dorian to bring up food or mealtimes. Concealing his overexcitement, Bull nodded, “Yeah, worked up an appetite throwing all of those discs. Sandwiches ok, kadan?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Like breakfast, lunch was a simple affair that Bull threw together. It consisted of sandwiches of cold roasted druffalo and cheese, two for Bull and half of one for Dorian, along with sliced vegetables on the side and a jug of water to drink. They took their meal outside on one of the benches in the gardens, enjoying the warmth of the autumn afternoon before winter finally settled in. A breeze picked up though, a sudden and short burst of cold cutting through the sun's rays, and Dorian shuddered in a chill even with a thick cloak draped over his shoulders.

“Did you want to go back inside, kadan?”

Dorian shook his head as he finished a bite of his sandwich. “No, amatus, I know I might as well soak up all the sunlight I can. Autumns in Orlais are abominably short.” Then with a quiet sigh, Dorian lamented for not the first time, “I miss our villa in Nevarra.”

“So do I,” Bull agreed. But he silently added that he wouldn't trade the proximity to Cassandra and her invaluable aid during Dorian's recovery for anything in the world.

“Do we ... Are we still in possession of it? Our villa?” Dorian asked quietly, never having brought it up before.

“Of course,” Bull confirmed swiftly. “A cousin that Cassandra doesn't completely hate is renting it now,” and providing a much needed income for them, “but we still own it.”

Dorian took another bite of his sandwich, chewing it slowly and with thought. “Good. It's something to look forward to then.”

Talk of the future and the thought of days beyond the next were always good and welcomed. It helped to soothe Bull's deepest fears about Dorian. “Yeah, I look forward to going back too, kadan.”

“Maybe next year,” Dorian added wistfully.

Bull didn't see a permanent move within that time frame, but he offered, “We could at least make a quick trip.”

The wistfulness faded from Dorian's eyes, but he managed a small smile, “I’d like that.”

They fell into silence, but Bull was encouraged again when Dorian’s wandering fingers made their way to Bull’s plate, snatching a carrot when his own disappeared. It seemed that Bull wasn't the only one who worked up an appetite during practice. Knowing that he was pushing his luck, Bull placed one of his sandwich halves onto Dorian’s plate.  
 _  
“Please, kadan, just a couple more bites, I know you’re hungry.”_

_“I … I really don’t want it. It’s just that … They would feed me their scraps or worse and I ate whatever they gave me. Sometimes they’d make me do … do things to earn my meal. It was the reasonable thing to do to keep my strength up, to not starve, so I let them feed me like a dog and allowed them degrade me … I just … I don’t have an appetite anymore, amatus.”  
_  
A small snort came from Dorian, but he didn’t comment or fight about the extra sandwich half. It sat there on the plate for a few, long minutes, and in small victory for Bull, Dorian took a couple of bites from it before letting it sit for good.

After finishing off lunch and washing the dishes, Dorian followed Bull up to the guestroom and helped Bull in getting the room ready for their friends. Bull brought up a fresh pitcher of water, placing it on a low dresser next to washbasin and leaving a couple of clean cloths and sweet smelling soap. They worked together to air out the room and getting rid of the layer of dust that had settled into every nook and cranny from disuse.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had anyone over other than Cassandra,” Dorian observed, his disgust evident as he ran a finger through the accumulation of dust on the nightstand.

“Yeah, if not Cass, then it's usually just the boss and Thom,” Bull agreed.

“Cadash and Thom are hardly proper company, they haven't an ounce of manners between then. You surely remember the disaster of the Grand Ball, Cadash has all the grace of a druffalo, it’s a miracle we weren’t thrown out on our asses, let alone allowed to step back into Orlais. I'm sure they're still finding bits of the Grand Duchess in that ballroom.”

“But you still love the boss.”

“Maker help me, I do.”

“And you can’t say that Sera is ‘proper company’ either.”

“Dagna will be and Sera will at least be more interesting company than Cadash and Thom. All Cadash ever wants to talk about …” Dorian trailed off, his eyes unfocused, body tensing, and Bull could easily fill in the blanks.

Cadash was bent on stamping out the Venatori, she did not easily forgive their kidnapping of her dear friend. It also meant that she was fixated upon them, which was not always easy on Dorian.

There was a strong impulse to gather Dorian up in his arms and soothe away any hurts that were bubbling to the surface, but Bull merely took out a fresh set of sheets out of the closet and allowed Dorian to try to handle his emotions and to tamper down an outburst on his own. Cassandra was insistent that Dorian not use Bull as a crutch for controlling his feelings.

“I know what you mean, kadan. Come on, help me put on the sheets.”

“Changing sheets like a common peasant, how far I’ve fallen,” Dorian sighed, but the danger was gone.

White sheets peppered with a pink rose pattern floated through the air as Bull snapped the cloth open with Dorian catching the other end to pull it taut across the mattress. Little bits of lint lingered about and Dorian scrunched up his nose before letting out a loud sneeze.

“We have a staff to run this house,” Dorian complained as he sniffled indignantly, “I don’t see why we don’t actually ask them to do things like this.”

“Did you want that?” Bull asked. “It would mean that the servants would be here most of the day.”

The annoyance that Dorian exhibited flickered away into hesitation and his face went pale with his lips pressed firmly together to hide their tremble. Bull swallowed as he vividly remembered wrapping his large hands around the thin neck of Dorian’s steward, a young and friendly Laetan man, vibrant and personable. Bull remembered dark eyes with a watery sheen, wide with fear and regret, as he snapped that delicate neck quickly to give the man as painless of a death as he could give. They were once friends, before the young steward was paid off to deliver Dorian into the hands of the Venatori.

“Hey,” Bull said softly, his hand encircling one of Dorian’s wrists to anchor him. “Maybe it’s something to think about later? Maybe one of them might like to work a little more, like Senna,” he suggested. Senna, the kind elven girl who looked and acted nothing like Dorian’s Tevinter servants.

Dorian’s throat bobbed and he nodded. “Yes, we’ll think of it later.”

Quickly finishing up the room, Bull settled his hands on Dorian's waist and watched the slight waver to Dorian's features.

“We have some time before Sera and Dagna come over,” Bull's thumbs rubbed soothing circles through the layers of Dorian's clothes, “why don't we sit in the library and read?”

There were still things that Bull should take care of before Sera and Dagna arrived. He needed to finish reviewing his ledger book to tally up their expenses, the parlor and formal dining room could use a good dusting, and he should probably start prepping a decent dinner considering how much Sera ate, but Bull knew when to take a break. Sera and Dagna would appreciate a rested Dorian in a good mood far more than a tidied house and prompt dinner.

“Yes,” Dorian agreed quickly, “that does sound rather nice.”

The library was well stocked with great works of literature, countless volumes of poetry, and heavy tomes of Orlesian history sitting on polished oak shelves that lined the walls. But waiting for them on a side table next to the oversized armchair was one of Varric's novels, a diverting tale, but far from a great work of fiction. The author tried his hand at romance again and his book was a thinly veiled epic on the love affair between the Divine and the Hero of Ferelden, it was a decent combination of smut and action.

Bull sat down in the chair and Dorian settled across his lap, his legs swung over the arm of the chair and his side was pressed to Bull's chest. Sharp bones and corners poked into Bull through the layers of Dorian's robes, his weight still too light for a grown man, but Bull still clung to his minor victories at breakfast and lunch, hoping that they hit a turning point. 

Grabbing the book from its spot on the side table, Bull placed it on Dorian's lap, opening it up to where they left off and rested a hand on Dorian's bony hip. “I think it's your turn to read, kadan.”

“I do believe you're right.”

Dorian started reading. His voice was soft in the large library, getting lost in the tall vaulted ceiling of the room, but Bull was more focused on Dorian’s body language. Dorian's whole body was tight against him, wound up and overwrought. His posture was almost folding into himself with his spine curled forward and his knees bent upward. Bull wasn’t sure what set Dorian off, it could be something as simple as a lack of sleep, but Bull knew that posture and knew what to do.

Reaching up, Bull carefully pressed Dorian's head to his shoulder and rubbed gentle circles at Dorian's temple with his thumb. The words from the book trailed off slowly and Bull could feel the faint flutter of eyelashes upon his skin as Dorian closed his eyes. The only sound was Dorian's deep and even breaths as Bull held his own.

“I'm fine, amatus,” Dorian murmured, his insistence muffled by Bull's shoulder.

“Doesn't mean you can't take a little rest, kadan. I'll read, ok? We're getting to a good part.”

There was a slight nod and Bull started to read. Varric's writing wasn't overly complicated, not demanding Bull's full attention and it allowed him to also monitor Dorian's tense form on his lap. Dorian's breaths were long and deep, carefully measured as he silently worked through whatever was getting at him. Slowly, as Bull's voice carried on, Dorian began to gradually unwind, his body relaxing as it melted against Bull's chest.

He could feel the light stroke of Dorian's eyelashes as eyelids blinked open and fingers wrapped around the leather strap of his harness. The puffs of air brushing against Bull's skin became shallower, less forced and still holding an even and steady rhythm.

“Do you know why I read Varric's books, amatus?” Dorian murmured softly, interrupting Bull mid-sentence.

Bull paused. “Why's that, kadan?”

“Because what rational, completely logical person with perfectly good taste read Varric’s romance novels? It’s the most irrational thing that I can do.”

A laugh huffed out of Bull at Dorian's reasoning and his heart lightened at Dorian's ability to joke about his condition. “You know you like it.”

“Completely irrational. Now, finish up the chapter, amatus.”

The last pages were read with ease, Bull's own body relaxing into the chair and he breathed easier as Dorian continued to toy with his harness. The chapter left off at a cliffhanger with the Divine’s lover and the captain of a mercenary company discovering a plot against the Divine's life. Rubbing at a small scar on his collarbone fondly, Bull figured that all would be alright.

Glancing at the grandfather clock nestled between bookshelves, Bull noticed the time. “I should probably start preparing dinner. I'm sure Sera and Dagna will be hungry when they arrive. Did you want to nap before they come? I'll lay down with you until you fall asleep.”

“I'll help you with dinner,” Dorian replied swiftly and firmly, not surprising Bull in the least, even as it caused him concern.

Little sleep the night before, a diet not fit for a grown man, and a hearty workout meant that Dorian would tire out quickly that evening. Normally that wasn't a problem, but Dorian might become irritated if he couldn't keep up with Sera and Dagna. There was a strong urge to persuade Dorian into resting, his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth to form the words, but Bull pushed it down and allowed Dorian to make his own decisions.

Despite his statement, Dorian didn't really help in the kitchen. Instead he sat on a stool with his elbows propped on the island in the middle of the kitchen and voiced his distinct opinions about the roasted chicken and vegetables that Bull was busy making. 

“I do hope you are adding enough spice to that bird, amatus. Use the spice mix Varric sent us from the north, and do go light on the butter. Remember that Orlesian cook Vivienne sent over? All she did was drench everything in butter! I'm glad you had the mind to get rid of her, I much rather have you cook our meals. What was Vivienne thinking anyway?”

Bull remembered it differently in those early days. Rich broth running down the wall in streams, shards of ceramic on the floor, and Dorian crouched down, his face pressed into the tops of his knees as his gasped for air. _"Send her away, amatus! I don't know her, I can't eat anything she makes, I don't know her."_

Bull had easily given into the demand, considering that Dorian's steward bribed a new cook to drug Dorian's food before giving him to the Venatori, a confession that Bull skillfully wrung from the man.

“Ma'am meant well, but I'm more than happy to cook for you, kadan,” Bull simply replied and leaned over the counter to press a kiss on the corner of Dorian's mouth.

It was good, Bull thought as he chopped the vegetables, to have Dorian talking about food. Often Dorian just sat and waited in glum silence, his body tense, preparing for the fight that meal times often were. But Bull noticed in the last few weeks Dorian seemed more engaged in the process, even if it was to talk about the superiority of Tevinter cuisine compared to the rest of the world.

Suddenly rapid pounding on the heavy oak front door echoed through the villa and Dorian instantly went pale, his diatribe cut off mid-sentence and his jaw snapped shut.

Bull dropped his knife and was at Dorian’s side in an instant, his hands gentle on Dorian's shoulders. “It's just Sera,” he reassured quietly and calmly, trying to ignore the rising tide of concern within him at Dorian’s blank stare and rigid posture.

Dorian blinked, his eyes slowly regaining focus. “Of course,” he managed, his cheeks pinking in embarrassment, “I was just startled, that's all.”

One hand slipped down to Dorian's back, slowly rubbing the space between his shoulders as the knocking stopped.

"You should get the door," Dorian insisted, his hands gripping the edge of the counter with pale knuckles.

"Sera will find her way in," Bull replied and kept rubbing Dorian's back, waiting patiently for the tension to unwind from his muscles.

True to Bull's words, within a few minutes his keen ears picked up the sound of a nearby back door opening and the light tread of Sera's footsteps. For as loud and rambunctious as that woman could be, Sera knew how to avoid the creak in a floorboard and to slip in and out of spaces with quiet ease. Dagna was less so with her heavier tread, her steps echoing off of the tall ceiling after Sera's.

"Oi, don't you guys answer doors anymore?" Sera's voice came from the hallway, strong in the large space of the Orlesian house.

Bull nearly moved to intercept her, to give Dorian a few more moments to steady himself, but Dorian quickly stood from his seat and with grace and dignity, chastised, “Don't you have the manners to wait for someone to answer the door? Were you raised in a barn?”

Sera appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, Dagna trailing only a couple steps behind, and she stopped and stared. Bull's heart thudded in his chest for a few seconds as dread filled him. He knew that Dorian was physically altered by his experiences, that his face and body was painfully thinned out, his bronze complexion was several shades lighter, and dark circles seemed to be permanently parked under his eyes. It often gave people pause when they saw him and Bull could almost feel the silent accusation that he wasn't taking care of Dorian well enough.

But instead of horrified surprise, Sera's face crumpled into a watery grin and she was suddenly running towards Dorian, moving faster than Bull could stop her, and invading Dorian's space without invitation. Her long and thin arms wrapped around Dorian tightly with her face pressed against his shoulder and Dorian easily folded into the embrace without an ounce of his earlier distress. It wasn't long until Bull could hear the hitch of Sera's breath that quickly dissolved into ugly sobs.

Sera was not a pretty crier, her face got red and blotchy, her nose often ran, and she made a terrible heaving noise as her sobs overtook her, but Dorian kept his arms around her, lightly teasing, "I know that you’ve missed me, but there's no need for such dramatics and you're ruining perfectly good silk at that!"

"Shuddup," was Sera's muffled response before she pulled her face away from his shoulder. "You look stupid in your mage skirts, like always."

“And you look like you still cut your own hair with a butter knife. Did you not get the scissors I sent you for Wintersend?”

She took a step back and punched him in the arm, the red blotches on her face beginning to recede, but her nose remained rosy. 

The sharp edges of concern within Bull dulled at the exchange and Dorian's relaxed posture. The sudden moment of fear from the loud noise and Sera's lack of personal boundaries didn't linger in Dorian's disposition. His eyes were almost as bright and watery as Sera's, but Dorian's smile was sincere with the pleasure of seeing his friend.

With Sera, so many things could go wrong, but Bull was relieved that it went right.

Dagna gave hugs to both Bull and Dorian, greeting them affectionately, while Sera started rummaging through the kitchen and located the lemon tarts one of the servants baked and left for them that morning. Without hesitation, Sera began to tuck into the food, sitting at the kitchen island between Dorian and Dagna while Bull continued making dinner as Dagna and Sera updated them on their latest adventures.

“Did a favor for some peasants outside of Val Royeaux, Lord Fannypants was taking way too much of their grain and spent it on his fancy gardens. Widdle made me some new bow that set that garden right up in flames!” Sera made herself laugh. “He was too busy trying to put it out, he didn’t even notice I’d walked through the front door to empty his cupboards.”

“I outdid myself with the rune for Sera’s bow this time,” Dagna grinned. “Think of a master fire rune, but with more fire.”

“That’s why I keep her,” Sera grinned back. “Squeezy cute and makes the best weapons.”

“My next project is to improve my dragon slaying runes.”

Bull jerked his head up from his work, his eye wide with eager interest. “You’re doing what now?”

“I’m trying to make it more powerful so you can slice right into a dragon’s scales in one hit!”

Bull found himself leaning forward. “Keep talking.”

Sera protectively threw her arms around Dagna. “Hey! Stop drooling over my Widdle! You’ve got your own prickly pear to bang right there!”

“What did you just call me!?”

Sera and Dagna's eager chatter filled the large kitchen, their back and forth was an easy routine perfected over their years together and it was easy to get lost in their clear affection for one another. The pair effortless pulled booming laughs from Bull over their antics and he found himself smiling as he cooked. However, Bull also kept his eye on Dorian and watched each grin and quiet laugh, observed every acceptance of a casual touch Sera gave him. Dorian wasn't nearly as animated as he used to be, but none of it was forced or strained, nothing seemed to bother him at the moment, even though having people over in the past didn’t always agree with him.

_"Am I eating enough? Am I sleeping? Am I doing my exercises? Maker's breath, I'm not a fucking child! Next Cassandra is going to be asking how often I take a shit."_

_"She's just trying to help, kadan, she wants to make sure you’re healing.”_

_"If she truly wanted to help, she would've smothered me in my sleep while I was still a vegetable instead of putting me through that fucking ritual!"_

Bull suddenly wondered if they needed more company like this, more people who were willing to joke and engage with Dorian without bringing up old wounds or pestering him about his recovery.

Dinner ramped up Bull's anxieties again as he took the food out to the informal breakfasting room and everyone settled down at the table. Even with the smooth course of the day and a better than average breakfast and lunch, he and Dorian were often both tired by the time dinner was served and sometimes tempers ran short.

Dorian's fork poked at the food on his plate for a solid five minutes, pushing his small piece of roasted chicken breast from one end of the plate to the other while Sera and Dagna ate with gusto, complimenting Bull on the meal. But the food began to taste more and more like ash in Bull's mouth with every minute that passed by without Dorian taking single a bite.

Then Sera, speaking with her mouthful and her fingers dangled menacingly over Dorian’s serving of potatoes, asked, “You going to eat that?”

As if by reflex, Dorian jerked his plate away from Sera's long reach and finally his fork pierced a potato before shoving it into his mouth. There was a moment of wild panic in Bull, his heart seized and was afraid that Dorian was having a flashback. The Venatori had mercilessly taunted Dorian with food during his captivity.

But Dorian's face wasn't twisted in fear or distress, instead there was a clear look of disgust. His nose was wrinkled as he glared at Sera and her long unwashed fingers with fingernails lined with unidentified grime. 

A memory hit Bull. Of a time back during the days of the Inquisition with him, Sera, Dorian, and Cadash sitting around a campfire and tin bowls filled with stewed ram and vegetables in hand. Sera, with her bottomless stomach, helped herself to potions of Cadash's meal and plucked out chunks of meat with her fingers without a word of protest from the boss. And Dorian sat there, with the same expression of disgust on his face and quickly ate his fill before Sera noticed and got ideas.

After that, dinner passed by more smoothly. While Dorian's fork didn't stray over to Bull's plate nor did he ask for seconds, his dish was clear by the end of the meal and that was enough to keep Bull satisfied.

“Oh! Is that a fire pit outside on the porch?” Dagna asked, her nose pressed upon the kitchen window after Sera polished off her third helping of chicken, mopping her plate clean with a thick slice of brown bread. “Let's make a fire and sit outside for dessert, we brought cocoa and fancy Orlesian chocolates, it'll be nice and cozy.”

“Cozy is not how I'd describe an autumn night in Orlais,” Dorian protested. 

But a roaring fire, cups of hot cocoa and the promise of blankets coaxed Dorian outdoors. Dorian actually managed to look rather cozy wrapped in one of Bull's winter cloaks, a thick wool blanket over his lap, and with a cup of steaming cocoa in hand. 

The air was sharp with an autumn chill, but Dorian looked relaxed as he sat close to the fire, its heat chasing away the cold. Dagna sat next to him, her box of Orlesian chocolates in easy reach, and Bull didn’t miss Dorian’s long fingers snatching a couple and popping them into his mouth. It reminded Bull to stock up on more candied dates, a favorite of Dorian’s.

Dorian and Dagna exchanged pleasantries until they both gave into the urge to talk about magical theory, a topic they both were enthusiastic about, but both had partners who were less than suited to have a serious discussion with. The arcane babble that spilled from Dorian's lips as he spoke to Dagna was sweet to Bull's ears, lifting his spirits to see Dorian engage in something he was so passionate about, but Bull didn't understand a word of what they were talking about. 

After a long period of trying to follow their conversation, Bull finally got up from his seat and found himself wandering out into the yard, idly inspecting the shrubbery that lined the pathway to the gardens. He could almost feel Dorian's eyes upon him, but Bull didn't dare to wander too far out of orbit. Bull eventually sat himself down on the lawn and Dorian seemed satisfied that Bull wasn’t going any further and devoted his full attention to Dagna.

Stretching out his legs, Bull winced as his bum knee straightened out. He was worried that inactivity was making it stiff and made a mental note to make Sera spar with him the following day if Dorian wasn’t up to it. He also made a note to finish balancing the numbers in his accounting books, to write up a new grocery list for one of the servants to accommodate Sera’s appetite and Dagna’s sweet tooth, to write back to Cullen to arrange visit in the winter, to send a request to the healer in town for more sleeping draughts for Dorian, and to update his journal on Dorian’s progress for Cassandra to review later. Even with guests at the villa, there was still a lot that needed to get done.

Sera dropped down onto the grass next to him, sitting cross legged as she followed his gaze on Dorian and Dagna sitting around the fire.

“He’s doing better, right?” Sera asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I mean, it looks like it. He’s not doing his midnight walks or refusing to eat anymore, yeah? What was that all about anyway?”

Bull let out a long sigh, “Some of it is that he wants to prove to himself that he's not Tranquil anymore by doing irrational things, like hurting himself or wandering out at night. He gets spooked if he doesn't dream or if he has a hard time using his magic. Other parts of it is working through the trauma of his captivity, the Venatori did a lot of shit to him. Cassandra said that other mages who have had their Tranquility broken often do erratic things, especially those who were abused.”

“But it's better, right?” Sera pressed.

“We've had a few isolated incidents, but that was a few weeks ago. He's actually been doing really well lately.”

A small, relieved noise escaped from Sera and then a sharp and boney elbow dug itself into the softness of his side and she looked up at Bull with a grin.

“Dorian looks good,” Sera told him. “He was bad when I last saw him and Cadash warned me he looked half dead when you took him from the Seekers. Can’t believe how normal he is after seeing him all, well, you know.”

Bull blinked, not expecting to hear that particular word. “Normal?”

“Yeah, I mean, Dorian’s not screaming at the moon and burning shit anymore. It’s not entirely all like he was before, but its close, right? You did good, bringing him here to heal. Cassandra’s got good intentions and she gets results, but the super Templar fortress isn’t the most relaxing place and probably the last place Dorian should be long term.”

Bull understood what she meant. He recalled opening the door to Dorian’s bedroom in the Seekers Fortress and seeing him huddled in the corner of his bed. Dorian’s legs were drawn up to his chest with his side and hollowed cheek pressed against the grey stone of the bedroom wall as his eyes blankly stared forward. His skin was ashen, too close to the shade of the stones that surrounded him, and his thinning body was swamped by the soft robe he wore. It was like Dorian was slipping away and in danger of fading into his very surroundings until there was nothing left.

It was only when Dorian had noticed Bull in the doorway did a little life shine in Dorian’s dulled silver eyes.

_I have to get him out of here or he’s going to die,_ Bull remembered thinking as his heart broke at the sight. 

“I’m just saying that you’re doing a good job,” Sera said.

There was sting to Bull’s eye that he was completely caught off guard by and his throat felt tight as he managed to whisper, “Thanks, Sera.”

Her strong arms wrapped around Bull’s neck as she embraced him. “If Dorian’s good with it, we wanna stay around and get a place in town or something. You know, so we can help out and visit, whatever you need. I know you need a break.”

“He’s not like this all the time,” Bull warned after Sera let him go, not wanting to get too invested in Sera’s offer. Enough people had made empty offers, not understanding the depth of Dorian’s trauma. “He’s had a good day today, but little things can set him off.”

“So?” Sera snorted. “Then I get you to help or he learns to deal with it.”

“I’m just saying that Dorian isn’t always easy.”

“When was he ever?”

“Sera.”

“Look,” Sera’s hands waved around, “I get it, he’s still not quite right and it’s not easy, Cadash and Cassandra told me enough about that, but we’re not here to fix him or rant about Venatori. We’re here to talk to him like a normal person, keep him company and let you sit on your butt in peace for like five minutes. If Dorian gets bad, then I get you and you make it better. If he doesn’t want company one day, then we go bugger off, but at least we’re around, yeah? So, do you want us to stay or not?”

A delicate feeling expanded in the Iron Bull’s chest, something hopeful and on the knife’s edge of desperate. Bull loved Dorian, he wanted to take care of his kadan and help him heal. Bull knew that there was no one else who could help Dorian like he could and that there was nowhere else Bull would rather be than at Dorian’s side, but it was also hard and emotionally draining work. Without a break for himself, Bull spent long months wrestling with Dorian over his basic needs, enduring tantrums and bursts of anger, breakdowns into tears over the simplest of things, and weathering his own fears and worries over Dorian’s condition.

Just the thought of having someone close by to help distract Dorian, to give Bull a few moments to himself, was a lifeline to him. With the progress Dorian had made and his reaction to Sera and Dagna’s company, Sera’s offer seemed like a real possibility and Bull didn’t realize how much he needed it until it was presented to him.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” Bull rasped.

Sera sniffled loudly and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, but under the watery sheen of her eyes was a giant grin. “Great, I’m going to ask him now!” 

She sprang to her feet and ran over to the porch, her loud voice echoing through the open space of the gardens. He didn’t hear Dorian’s response, but he watched as Sera hugged him fiercely and as she started chatting away excitedly, her face lit up.

Bull got back to his feet and joined them around the fire, but not long after, Dagna started yawning, her mouth stretched out as she let out a loud one. She rubbed her eyes with her hand and stated, “It’s been a long day of traveling and I’m ready for a warm glass of milk and bed.”

“I’m tired too,” Sera agreed before declaring, “Ugh! It’s way early! We’re getting old! A little traveling and then we’re wiped.”

“Come on, I’ll help you with your bags and show you to your room,” Bull offered.

“Nah, we’ve got it,” Sera waved him off. “Better get that one to bed,” she pointed to Dorian nodding off under his layers.

“Right,” Bull nodded in agreement. “Your room is on the second floor, first door to the right, there’s a washroom right across the hall from it. Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen. Come on, kadan,” he gently shook Dorian’s shoulder, “time for bed.”

It was still rather early in the evening, but Dorian’s stamina wasn’t what it used to be and after an eventful day, they could both use the extra rest. Retiring to their bedroom, Bull lounged on the bed and watched Dorian go through his bedtime routine of unwrapping himself from his silk robes, washing his face, and applying a multitude of lotions to his body.

“Sera and Dagna want to move into town,” Dorian started, sitting at his vanity in his white cotton under robe. His eyes lifted up to the mirror, meeting Bull's gaze.

"And what do you think about it?" Bull asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“If they wish to move to this backwater end of Orlais, who am I to object? Sera always had questionable taste.”

The deflection was patently Dorian, but Bull couldn't let this slide. “That's not a real answer, Dorian.”

Turning in his seat, Dorian faced Bull as the corner of his lip reluctantly curled in a bitter smile. 

“There's a part of me that desperately doesn't want to share you. A part that still tells me that if I let you go in anyway and share you with anyone else, even with our friends, that you're going to realize how screwed up all of this is. That you'll realize that this isn’t worth it and you’ll no longer want to take care of me like you do and you'll leave me. I'm afraid that you'll want to go back to the Chargers or go off with Cadash and send me back to Seekers.” 

The little smirk on Dorian's face crumpled quickly and he looked vulnerable sitting there in his under robe, stripped of his makeup, and eyes filled with regret. 

“Maker knows I deserve it after the way I've treated you, amatus.”

_“You useless ox! What good is it to keep you around if you let this happen to me? Whatever happened to that famed bodyguard of the Inquisitor's? Sitting on his ass while I tossed to the Venatori and was cut off from the fucking Fade, that's what!”_

Bull was on his feet in an instant, closing the gap between them before kneeling at Dorian's feet and taking his hands. “Everything you said, everything you've thrown at me, I know that it wasn't you. You were scared and confused, you couldn't handle what had happened to you and I know you didn't mean any of it.”

“I hurt you.” The statement came out in whispered anguish.

He remembered the cold stonewall upon his back as Bull collapsed against it after seeing Dorian for the first time after his Tranquility was broken. All he could hear was the loud roar of his blood in his ears, the sick thud of his heart in his chest, and the heave of his breath as he tried to hold himself together. Bull had already felt enough guilt over Dorian's kidnapping and to have his worst thoughts and fears thrown back at him, by Dorian of all people, nearly had him spilling his breakfast on the floor.

It went without saying that Bull heard Cole’s voice in his head on more than one occasion during those days. 

_“It’s all too loud, the Iron Bull. Everything is overwhelming, confusing, painful. It hurts and he wants others to hurt because he doesn’t understand, but he’s not angry at you, not really. He loves you, the Iron Bull, he loves you and he knows you love him, it scares him, because he wants it all to stop, he wants to come to an end.”_

“I was hurt,” Bull replied softly, “but I didn't blame you, I never have. I've only ever blamed the Venatori bastards who did this to you, who made you hurt like this. Do you understand that, kadan?”

There was the slightest of nods in confirmation.

Cupping Dorian’s face with his hands, Bull urged, “I need to hear you, Dorian.”

There was a pause, stretching out for long seconds, before Dorian finally whispered, “I understand.”

“I'm not leaving you, Dorian. Not for the Chargers, for our friends, or even the boss. Not now, not ever, because I love you and I don't want to be without you.”

Under Bull's palms he could feel Dorian's jaw tightened to hide the sudden wobble in his chin. “I know, amatus, I love you too. Tell Sera and Dagna to stay the winter, we'll see how it goes from there.”

The heavy knot in Bull's chest began to unravel. “Are you sure?”

“As if I could keep that imp away.” There was a suspicious sniffle and a rapid blink to his eyes, but Dorian was soon standing and insisted, “Up now, if you kneel any longer you won't be able to get back onto your feet. I know how your knee gets.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, like Sera said, I'm getting old,” Bull groused, his fingers gripping the edge of the vanity to lift himself up and slightly limped back to the bed.

Dorian snorted. “It's not so much age as it is years of charging towards anything larger than you to kill it finally taking its toll.”

“As I said, old.”

On his way to the bed, Dorian snatched up the book he left on his chair the night before and laid it down on his nightstand. He looked at Bull self-consciously as he slid into bed and meekly shrugged his shoulders. 

“For if I wake up in the middle of the night,” he explained softly, his sass suddenly dried up. “I don't want you to wake up alone again in case you have another bad dream.”

Reaching over, Bull grasped Dorian's hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, kadan.”

Dorian snuggled up to Bull, his body pressed against the length of Bull's side with his arm thrown over Bull's ribs and head cradled on his shoulder. 

“Today was a really good day,” Dorian's words were warm across Bull's skin.

“Yeah,” Bull hummed happily in agreement, “we've been having a lot of those lately.”

**Author's Note:**

> I promise that my next story will be a happier one. Pinky swear!


End file.
